


instead of buried alive

by akamine_chan



Series: Empty With You [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulbond, Alternate Universe - Soulmark, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Discrimination, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Poverty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14233065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: Frank doesn't believe in happy-ever-afters, but he seems to be living in one anyway.





	instead of buried alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jiksa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiksa/gifts).



> This was written for my beloved Jiksa who donated money to an auction to help Puerto Rico. Her request: _In terms of what to write, I was hoping you might give us a little ficlet from EWY? Something domestic and cute once they're living together and things are fine and maybe there are no pants involved and someone's always finishing the last of the non-dairy milk?_
> 
> This _almost_ fits Jiksa's specs - it has less no pants, a little leftover angst, a dog, some Indian food, and Ray being awesome.
> 
> Many thanks to Acadjonne for help with dog names, and to the folks in the BBB discord for cheering. Much love to my darling Crow for reading and keeping me going, more love to my other darling Prophetic for accountability, and thanks to Ande for beta, as always.
> 
> Title from _Empty With You_ by the Used.

# If my heart was a house, you'd be home

Gerard was freaking out.

Two weeks ago, Frank had nonchalantly mentioned wanting to have his parents over for dinner. Gerard had quickly agreed, a pleased warmth settling into his chest, because he hadn't met Frank's parents yet. Frank really hadn't talked about his family very much. Gerard knew that they lived in Jersey, down in Trenton, and that Frank went to visit them once in a while.

And then, once Gerard realized what he'd done, he descended into fourteen hellish days of turbo-charged anxiety and doubt.

Gerard had insisted, almost right from the beginning, that Frank accompany him on his weekly Sunday trips back to his childhood home in Jersey. That first time, he'd led Frank onto the porch, trying to see the old house through Frank's eyes. The screen door needed to be oiled, and the paint on the porch railing was flaking off in spots. Donald Way had plans to conscript some Way cousins in the upcoming summer, to do some maintenance on the place, but in the meantime, the house looked every one of its years.

The garage door took forever to open, the pipes clanked in protest when you showered in the upstairs bathroom, and the living room carpet was slightly threadbare, but it was _home_.

No matter how old he got, there was something in Gerard that settled at the faint smell of old potpourri and coffee.

Frank had been skittish that first time, understandably; people tended to treat the bondless as something less than human.

But Gerard _knew_ his parents, and he knew how big-hearted his mom was. Donna Way had taken one long look at Frank, who was nothing but defiant tattoos braced for rejection, and had _melted_.

And where Donna went, Don followed.

This was different.

This was Frank's family, who Frank barely talked about. His mom, his dad, his uncle Ricky, his aunt Sarah. They were lucky the apartment wasn't bigger; several of Frank's cousins had tried to invite themselves along, and Gerard didn't think he could host that many people without having a breakdown.

It was so fucking important that Gerard make a good impression.

"You're being ridiculous," Frank murmured the night before, face pressed into the hollow under Gerard's jaw.

Gerard blinked at the shadowed ceiling he'd been staring at. "Tell me you weren't nervous when you met my parents?"

He felt the slight motion of Frank's shoulders lifting, then falling. "I had like a day to worry, and then we were on their front porch."

"Point." Gerard let his hand drift down, following the line of Frank's spine. He pet Frank for a bit, smiling briefly when Frank pressed a kiss to his neck. "It's important," he said, finally. " _They're_ important. I don't want to disappoint."

"You won't," Frank said. "I promise you, Gee, my parents are gonna love you."

"Hmph."

"Sleeping now," Frank mumbled. "Long day tomorrow."

Gerard didn't say anything more, just started at the ceiling and counted all the ways he could fuck this up. He fell asleep between _#15: food poisoning_ and _#16: death by rogue meteorite_.

* * *

After dinner, Gerard retreated into the kitchen while everyone else went to watch some game on the television. Gerard wasn't entirely sure _what_ particular sport they were watching, but there were loud cheers and raucous boos, so he supposed it really didn't matter.

He stared down at the sink filled with soapy water and dirty dishes, and took a deep breath, feeling his shoulders untense for the first time all evening.

Gerard had managed not to say 'fuck' in front of Frank's parents. He hadn't talked about vampires, and he'd successfully avoided bringing up politics. He was pretty sure he'd managed to impress Frank's dad with his knowledge of obscure jazz artists.

He thought that the night could safely be called a win.

He pulled out his special rubber dish-washing gloves from under the sink and put them on. They were purple, went almost up to his elbow, and had big leopard print cuffs. Frank had bought them for Gerard, as a joke. The package proudly proclaimed them to be 'Glamor Gloves!' They were ridiculous, and Gerard couldn't help but smile down at the sink.

"Can I help?"

Gerard whirled around, startled. Frank's mom— _Linda_ —was standing in the doorway. She was slight and dark, her hair streaked with grey, and Gerard could see the echo of Frank in the way she held herself.

"N-no," Gerard stuttered, then cleared his throat. "No, I've got it." He stood there stupidly, then turned back to the sink. "Give me a minute, then I can make some coffee, if you like?" He rinsed off the gloves and pulled them off, draping them over the neck of the faucet.

She smiled. "That would be lovely," she said, and sat at the tiny kitchen table that Gerard had found at a flea market, years ago. There was a window in the kitchen, and some days, Gerard would nurse his coffee while he watched the city come to life.

Gerard quickly filled the filter basket and added water, flipping the switch on the coffee pot. It gurgled and hissed threateningly; Gerard had always imagined coffee pots to be some sort of magical, mechanical creature. The sound and smell of brewing coffee was comforting and familiar.

There was another shout from the living room. "The Devils are losing," Linda remarked.

"…Hockey?" He poured her a cup, and then refilled his own mug. He got the creamer out of the fridge, and nudged the sugar bowl closer to her as he sat down in the other chair. He added a dollop of creamer to his coffee, and stirred.

Linda laughed. "I don't know how you can grow up in Jersey and not know anything about sports."

"It's my superpower," Gerard said, and fuck, that was pretty damn nerdy. So much for passing as a normal, average person.

She winked at him over the rim of her cup. "One of many, I'm sure," she said, and Gerard laughed, relaxing a bit.

Linda set down her cup, toying with the handle before looking at Gerard again. "After Frank was born, Cheech and I decided not to have any more children," she said diffidently. "We both knew families with bondless in them, had some idea of how terrible it is for them. Bad enough that Frank was going to go through that—"

She took another sip of her coffee, staring into her cup. "They say that the worst thing a parent can experience is the death of a child." She met Gerard's eyes. "I know that's not true."

He made an involuntary sound, and reached out to her. Linda caught his hand in hers and squeezed. "I'm so glad you found each other," she whispered fiercely. Gerard's chair screeched as he fell to his knees beside Linda, wrapping his arms around her.

Linda was tiny, like Frank, but so strong, her arms tight around his shoulders. "He's happy, and loved, and I didn't think he'd ever get to have that," she murmured against the crown of his head. "Thank you."

Gerard bit his lip against the burning in his eyes and burrowed into the hug. He hadn't thought he'd ever get to have that, either.

# And I will try to fix you

Frank woke up shivering, and for a sleepy moment, he didn't know where he was. It was freezing cold, he must have kicked off the blankets for some reason, and now his teeth were chattering. Then a familiar weight shifted next to him, and he _remembered_. He was sleeping with the worst fucking blanket thief in all of the city, possibly of the tri-state region.

He was home, with Gerard. Not back at his old, shitty apartment. Not alone.

Gerard made a blurry, broken sound next to him, pain and fear, and Frank was instantly, totally awake. He sat up. There was enough of a glow from the mercury street lights outside of the curtained window that Frank could see how Gerard was curled up, his knees almost to his chest, face streaked with tears.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, keeping his voice low. "Wake up, you're having a bad dream, come on, baby, wake up." Frank ran his hand over Gerard's head, stroking his messy hair back out of his face. "It's all right, it's just a dream, just a bad dream, sweetheart."

Gerard jerked upright, his eyes flying open. "Frank? Frankie, what's—are you—" He was frantic, clutching at Frank's arms, breathing fast and panicked.

"Shhhh, it's okay, Gerard, I'm right here, I'm fine, it was just a bad dream, nothing but a nightmare." Gerard was holding on tight; Frank was sure he'd have bruises in the morning.

"Oh, fuck," Gerard said, shuddering. "Fuck, it felt so real." He wiped at his eyes and collapsed back down onto the bed.

"Roll over," Frank said, pushing gently on Gerard's shoulder. "C'mon."

Gerard shook his head, but his face was too shadowed for Frank to make out his expression. It didn't matter, because Frank had learned, through trial and error, how to handle the aftermath of these terrible nightmares.

They had grown steadily less common over time, but sometimes they would come back, especially when Gerard was stressed.

And Gerard had been stressed. The guilt rose in Frank's throat like bile, and he swallowed it back. They'd been fighting all week about Gerard's refusal to take money from Frank, not even for basic things like rent and food and utilities.

It wasn't a lot, what Frank had to offer, but Gerard had been almost dismissive about the whole idea. It dinged Frank's pride, and so they'd snapped and bickered and now Gerard was having fucking nightmares and it was all Frank's fault.

"Roll over," he repeated, and Gerard reluctantly did, turning onto his side, facing away from Frank. Frank leaned and pulled the covers up from where they'd been shoved down to the foot of the bed during the night. He spooned up behind Gerard and tucked the comforter around them.

Frank wrapped his arms around Gerard and pressed his cheek against Gerard's back. Gerard rested his hands on Frank's; they were icy cold and trembling. "Wanna talk about it?"

Sometimes Gerard dreamed about Lindsey, razor-sharp glass and crumpled metal and sirens in the night.

And sometimes Gerard dreamed about _Frank_.

Gerard sighed. "No." He sounded exhausted and worn, and Frank wanted to be able to do something—anything to make Gerard _not hurt_.

He tightened his hold on Gerard. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I wish—"

"I know," Gerard whispered back.

They laid there, Frank wrapped around Gerard, the sounds of the city like white noise in the background. After a while, Gerard dropped back into sleep, but Frank was still wide awake when the morning light crept in.

# You're my best friend and we're dancing in a world alone

Gerard, for the most part, tried not to make a habit of lying. This was for a good cause, though, so he put on his best poker face.

"There's a new Indian place I wanna try for lunch," he said as they sat around the kitchen table drinking their morning coffee. "On 1st Street."

Frank looked up from the NYT crossword puzzle he was working on, brow wrinkled. "Okay," he said slowly.

Frank didn't always understand the nuances of being in a relationship; too many years of being bondless, Gerard knew. Still, it made something in his chest clench painfully. "There's a new Indian place I want _us_ to try," he corrected.

"Oh." Frank's face cleared. "Well, I was going to do the laundry…you're almost out of underwear and socks."

Gerard refrained from rolling his eyes because it was sweet, how much of a husband Frank could be sometimes. "Let's go out to lunch, and then we'll come back and I'll help with the laundry." It was Gerard's sincere hope that when they got back after lunch, they'd be too busy doing _other_ things to worry about the laundry. "This place is getting a lot of good reviews, and it's vegan with a variety of gluten-free options," he coaxed.

"Well…"

"I've heard their potato vindaloo is to die for."

"Not fair," Frank muttered. He loved spicy food, but in the past it often hadn't loved him back. His stomach issues had gotten better over time, mainly because Gerard went out of his way to find foods that weren't problematic for Frank's delicate digestive system.

Gerard still wasn't the best cook, but he'd purchased a few cookbooks and now Frank was at a point where he could indulge in spicy food occasionally without repercussions.

Sometimes, when they went grocery shopping, Frank would balk at what he called the 'unnecessary' expense of gluten-free bread and fake meat products, and they'd argued about it more than once. In the end, Frank gave in gracelessly, and let Gerard buy all the tempeh and eggplant jerky and black bean burgers and mushroom steaks that he wanted.

"I want to try their chana masala," Gerard added, though he was pretty sure that Frank was already on the verge of giving in to his demand for lunch.

"What is it with you and chickpeas?" Frank asked. "Curry, falafel, hummus…"

Gerard shrugged and sipped his coffee. "So, lunch?"

Frank rolled his eyes. "Only if you promise to help me do laundry afterwards."

"Sure," Gerard said, crossing his fingers under the table. "Laundry."

* * *

The restaurant turned out to be fantastic. It was a small, unassuming storefront, like so many great places to eat in Brooklyn. The walls were draped with beautiful dyed fabrics and the air was redolent with roasted spices. Frank's stomach growled loudly as they sat down.

Gerard got the chana masala, and Frank ended up ordering the potato vindaloo, extra spicy, just as Gerard knew he would. They ate and talked about nothing in particular, sipping at their sweet mango lassis while the restaurant staff bustled around them.

"Oh, god, that was amazing," Frank moaned, leaning back in his chair. "I'm so full."

It made Gerard happy to give Frank small things like a good meal. "Told you," he murmured, glancing at the total on the check and biting his lip against a smile.

"Fuck you," Frank muttered. He started to flip Gerard off, noticed some kids sitting a couple of tables over, and finished off his lassi instead.

Gerard pulled his wallet out and counted out some bills, putting them in the plastic check tray. "Frank. Frankie."

"Yes?" He looked at Gerard curiously and frowned.

Gerard was sure that Frank could tell something was up; he was excited and that was hard to hide. "Do you trust me?"

"I did," Frank said slowly, "right up until the point where you asked me that." He sighed, lips turning downward. "Are you going to tell me you don't want to do laundry after all?"

That startled a laugh out of Gerard. "Well—"

"I knew it!"

"Actually," Gerard said, still chuckling. "I wanted to show you something, but I want it to be a surprise."

"Well, I'm fucking surprised."

Gerard couldn't help himself, he brought Frank's hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, right against the double Ls.

"And now you're trying to sweet-talk your way back into my good graces. Nice try, Gee, but it won't work," Frank said, shaking his head.

He raised an eyebrow. "We'll see."

Frank scoffed, and disentangled his hand from Gerard's. He pushed his hair off his forehead. It had gotten long and shaggy and he was always threatening to cut it, but Gerard liked the way it looked on Frank.

"I was thinking," he said. "It's only a little ways down the street, maybe you could keep your eyes closed until we get there."

"Gerard—"

"I mean," Gerard continued quickly at the dismayed look that flashed across Frank's face. "I know it's weird and stupid, but I really want this to be a surprise."

"Okay."

"Okay?" Gerard repeated.

"Yeah, okay. I'm almost positive this isn't some kind of weird prank, and I'm pretty sure you're not going to let me walk into traffic, so…" He shrugged. "Okay."

Frank's smile was somewhat wobbly, but it made Gerard feel warm inside. "Thanks, sugar."

"This better be worth it," Frank warned, standing up and tucking his chair under the table. "Otherwise you'll find yourself scrubbing the toilet with a toothbrush."

"Kinky," Gerard leered, and held Frank's hand as they walked back out into the warm spring sunshine.

* * *

It really wasn't far away, just right around the corner. Gerard kept Frank close to his side and provided a running commentary on direction, speed, and possible trip hazards.

Frank was clearly nervous, licking his lips and clutching at Gerard's arm, but he kept his eyes shut, and Gerard fell impossibly more in love with Frank at the trust that he was showing.

"Almost there," he said near Frank's ear. "The door’s about ten feet away."

"Good," Frank said. "This is ridiculous."

The door had a small bell that tinkled when Gerard ushered Frank through. Once inside, the echoing sound of barking dogs was almost deafening. Frank tensed, confusion wrinkling his forehead. Gerard was amazed to see that Frank's eyes were still closed.

"Gerard?" Frank's hand tightened on Gerard's wrist.

"Open your eyes, Frankie," Gerard said, a little loudly, to be heard over the din.

"Oh," Frank said. "Oh." He looked around the room, seeing the espresso machine and the case that held a gorgeous array of desserts, and the café area, bathed in natural light from the front windows. Behind the counter, a sign exclaimed in foot tall letters "Pawsh Pup! The world's first dog cafe!"

The was a glass wall that divided the space in half, and a bunch of dogs were happily napping, playing tug-of-war, and being petted on the other side. There was a dutch door, top half open, that let in the sounds of a room full of dogs and the people visiting them.

Frank turned slightly wide eyes on him. "I've heard about this place; I've been wanting to stop by since it opened. Are we gonna pet the dogs, Gee?"

Gerard couldn't help but laugh. "We can pet the dogs, yes, but we're actually here to find one to adopt."

"To take home?" Impossibly, Frank's eyes got even rounder.

"Yes, Frank," Gerard said patiently.

"To our apartment?"

Frank's use of 'our apartment' pleased Gerard. Frank tended to avoid claiming ownership of their home, sticking to non-committal phrases like 'the apartment.'

"Yes," Gerard repeated, pressing a gentle kiss to Frank's temple. "A dog for us to take home."

* * *

They sat down and drank coffee while Frank browsed the Dawg Book, a binder filled with laminated pictures of the dogs in residence, with comical biographies for each dog.

"Look at this one," Gerard said, pointing to a Pit Bull mix named Star, mostly white with blotches of brown. She had an exaggerated widow's peak that made her look serious, except for her wide, doggy grin and lolling tongue. "She's got such a great face."

"Yeah, she does." Frank flipped a few pages, and then "Oh, look!" Frank was pointing at a frankly ridiculous looking black puppy, big eared with one brown eye, one blue. The dog's oversized paws were tipped in white, making it look like they had been dipped in paint.

_Ace is a 9 month old Husky/Lab mix. He is a bundle of energy, bouncy and liable to get into trouble if you don't keep him occupied. His favorite toy is Squeaky Goose, and he is strongly motivated by peanut butter. He is the founding member of the Scooby Doo Fan Club, Brooklyn Branch, and is ready to solve mysteries with his new human._

"What a cutie," Gerard said. Ace was definitely a possibility, though Gerard wasn't exactly sure about a high energy puppy that would grow into a lab or husky-sized dog. "They have private rooms, if there are any dogs that you're interested in meeting for some one-on-one time."

"Mmmm." Frank continued to page through the book, passing over Pudge the Pug and Muffy the Maltese Mix. He stopped on a picture of a small dog with a face reminiscent of a fox. Her fur was short and stiff, black on top, tan underneath, with white patches on her chest.

_Sheba is a 8 year old Yorkie/Chihuahua mix. She's quiet and calm, content to sit in your lap and nap. She's a rescue from a hoarding situation, and while she is tolerant of cats and other dogs, she would probably benefit the most from being the only pet in the home. She prefers rope tug toys over squeaky ones, loves telenovelas and intensely dislikes all of Michael Bay's movies._

"I can get behind Sheba," Gerard said. "I don't like Michael Bay movies, either."

Frank snorted. "She's small and older. Probably won't tear up our apartment like a puppy would."

"True."

There were only a few pages left in the Dawg Book. Duke the Dutch Shepherd mix, Chico the Pomeranian, Roscoe the Great Dane. Frank frowned down at the last page, and Gerard leaned closer to get a better look.

_Sweet Pea is our resident mystery. She is an elderly dog, possibly a mix of Chihuahua and some sort of Terrier. She has a few benign medical issues that don't affect her health. She is sweet and stately, and would make a perfect companion for some lucky human. Pea came to us after living a hard life on the streets, dodging cars and eating from garbage cans, and has eyes that can see into your soul. Because of her age, we think it would be best if Pea was the only pet in her forever home. Her favorite toy is Hedgie the Hedgehog, and in her spare time, she enjoys jigsaw puzzles._

The dog in question was definitely on the small and stout side, with wiry grey fur that was faded to white around her face. She had an impressively bushy mustache and beard combination that would do a high fantasy wizard proud. Her eyes were overly pronounced and her tongue protruded from her mouth like it was too big to fit. She was, as Gerard's mother would have charitably said, homely.

"This one," Frank said, tapping the picture of Sweet Pea. There was no hesitation in his voice.

"All right," Gerard said. "Let's go tell the volunteer that we want to meet Sweet Pea."

A flash of uncertainty crossed Frank's face. "You don't mind? She's not a puppy, and—" He gestured toward the photograph.

"Let's just meet her and see what happens," Gerard said.

* * *

"You want to meet Pea?" The volunteer, Lisa, according to her name tag, seemed surprised.

"Yep," Gerard confirmed. "We're thinking of adopting her."

Gerard could feel the nervous tension radiating from Frank, and the subtle shift from foot to foot, back and forth. Frank tucked his hair behind his ear, and stiffened visibly when Lisa's eyes followed the movement. Gerard couldn't help it, he moved closer, positioning himself slightly in front of Frank, just in case.

There had been incidents, of course, once people saw the hand tattoos. Nasty words, and name calling, mostly. A scuffle once, with some drunk on the street. Gerard was sure that Frank had experienced worse in the past, but when he'd asked, Frank had refused to discuss it.

Maybe it was better that way. 

He would do anything to keep Frank from having to experience the bigotry and hate aimed, so casually, at the bondless.

Now, Gerard does what he can to keep Frank safe. And if he had to throw down with Lisa-the-Volunteer here on the clean laminate floor of the Pawsh Pups Dog Café, he wouldn't fucking hesitate.

Lisa's eyes widened when she saw the tattoos. There was a pause, then "Pea is very special to all of the volunteers here. We're very attached to her, because she's been living in shelters for a long time. She's had a rough life, and she deserves a forever home, but most people don't bother to look beyond her appearance." She smiled, tentative.

Gerard exhaled and dropped his shoulders, while Frank nodded solemnly. "I think she's beautiful," Frank said.

"She can be standoffish at first; we think she may have been abused before she was picked up off the street. It takes her a while to warm up to new people."

Frank shrugged.

"Frank's pretty good with dogs," Gerard said.

"All right," Lisa said softly. She looked over her shoulder, where dogs and people were mingling in the visiting area. "I see that Pea's hanging out in her bed. Why don't you two go into the Bacon Room and I'll bring her in to you." She let them in through the Dutch door and indicated the rooms along the wall.

The Bacon Room had a cartoon graphic of bacon on the door. The other rooms were labeled Peanut Butter and Liver, which made Gerard giggle. Inside, there were a couple of beanbag chairs and a dog bed. Gerard plopped into one of the chairs while Frank sat cross-legged on the floor.

Lisa came in a few minutes later, carrying Pea, who was wearing a bright purple collar. She was much tinier than she'd seemed in her picture, and her fur was in total disarray. "You're such a good girl," Lisa cooed. She set Pea down, and left them alone.

Sweet Pea looked at Gerard, then turned her attention to Frank. She approached him slowly, like her bones hurt. She sniffed at his knee, then proceeded to laboriously climb into Frank's lap. She settled herself with a long sigh, and Frank looked absolutely stunned at her easy acceptance of him. He petted her, fingers moving carefully, and her ragged tail thumped once, twice.

"Hey, pretty girl," Gerard said, gingerly getting to his knees and shuffling closer. He held out his hand, and Sweet Pea deigned to sniff him before bestowing a lick. He smoothed down the rough fur on her head, 

"Gerard, can we—"

There was no way that Gerard could deny Frank, especially with the longing that was written so clearly on his face.

"I'll get started on the paperwork," he said, and went to find Lisa.

# When everything's made to be broken

They finally wrapped up the recording session slightly after two in the morning. Ray bundled the band up and sent them out into the chilly night, once they'd promised to eat, sleep, and _shower_ before coming back to the studio. "I don't want to see your ugly mugs for at least two days," Ray said, laughing when he received a raucous chorus of fuck yous in return.

Frank was stretched out on the tattered couch wedged into the back of the control room, exhausted but too jittery from all the coffee he'd drunk to even think about going home and crawling into bed. He would end up just laying there and staring at the dark ceiling, and eventually his twitching would disturb Gerard—

"Maybe that last espresso wasn't such a good idea, huh, Frankie?" Ray said, pushing Frank's legs out of the way so he could sit on the couch. Frank flipped him off and then put his feet into Ray's lap.

"If I wasn't supposed to drink espresso, then the studio shouldn't have an espresso machine."

"Well, it's supposed to be for the clients…"

"Don't even front, Toro. Your addiction to espresso is worse than Gerard's."

Ray shrugged amiably. He patted Frank's ankle. "You in a rush to get out of here? I wanted to show you something."

Frank sat up a little. "Sure, Ray. You've been working on something new?"

Ray was not only a superb sound engineer and producer but he was a damn fine guitarist, as well. Frank still didn't understand why Ray wasn't doing his own music, instead of helping other bands record _theirs_. He handed Frank a manila folder that had been sitting on top of a Marshall amp that they used as an end table. 

"What's this?" Frank opened the folder and sifted through the papers. There were several sheets that looked like blueprints for remodeling a building. One page was a notarized inspection and appraisal by Hoppus Appraisals LLC for a building at 468 Central Avenue over in Bushwick. Under that was a form for the creation of a LLC partnership in the names of Ray Toro and Frank Iero. "Ray…what the fuck?" There were more papers: small business loan forms, a business plan in Ray's meticulous handwriting, a mockup of logo designs, a proposed schedule of rates…all with those sticky flags to indicate where signatures were needed. "I don't understand."

"Well, the truth is, we've outgrown this place," Ray said. He waved his hand around. "We've got a reputation now, and the number of booking requests we've had to turn down, because we don't have the _room_ —" He tapped at the blueprints. "Bigger studio, more recording space means we both can be working with bands at the same time."

A couple of years ago, Ray had hired Frank as a full time employee at Stage Left Recording Studio. Frank had been hesitant at first, because he'd never had a job that paid so well and had _benefits_. It had seemed unreal. Impossible.

It made him wonder if maybe Gerard had asked Ray to hire him, as a favor. Ray was the kind of guy who would do something like that.

"Oh, Frank," Gerard had said, when Frank had come home, confused and uncertain.

"Ray's too nice," Frank had said defensively.

"He is," Gerard had agreed. "But he also knows that you're a fucking amazing musician, and he's been dying to hire you full time for a while now." He stirred the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove. "Listen, Ray's a great guy, and he's been a good friend for years, but he's never had a problem saying 'no' to me and making it stick. If he didn't want to you to work with him at the studio, he wouldn't have asked you."

"Oh."

So Frank had accepted the job, and it hadn't been very long before business had really picked up. He ended up doing a lot less guitar session work, and much more producing and mixing.

He was happy. He didn't think too hard about it, because it made him feel other things that he didn't have labels for, but for the first time in his life, he felt real. Solid. And he didn't know what to do with with that.

And now, Ray was shifting closer on the couch to point to the blueprints. "Two connected studios. Each with two unique performance spaces. The acoustics are amazing, Frankie. And we can build a nice living area: a couple of bedrooms, a kitchenette, laundry, showers. We've got a decent amount of equipment here at Stage Left, it wouldn't take much more to outfit the second studio."

Frank's head was spinning, because there was so much to take in. This idea, partial ownership of something important and permanent— "We can't." He looked at Ray, swallowing hard. "There's no way, Ray, this is going to cost a fortune, and I don't have any—" Money.

Now that he had a steady income, he made an effort to give a large portion of what he made to Gerard, to help offset their basic living expenses: food, shelter, utilities. Gerard did really well for an indie musician, but still, he wasn't made of money, and it was fucking expensive to live in Brooklyn. Frank knew that from personal experience; even the shithole apartments he'd lived in before he'd met Gerard had been outrageously expensive. So he tried to help, now that he could. It wasn't much, but it made him feel less like a burden.

Saving money was almost impossible, though. He had enough left over to buy guitar strings and cute knitted sweaters for Sweet Pea, and occasionally he would splurge and take Gerard out to eat at a nice place. Gerard would blush, suddenly shy, when Frank did anything vaguely romantic like dinners at fancy restaurants. Frank absolutely loved that he could do that, make Gerard feel bashful and young and in love.

But this was madness. He looked at the amount on the loan form and could feel the panic rising in his blood, shortening his breath. It was an impossibly large sum, and it broke his heart, because he wanted this, wanted this more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

Ray reached out and squeezed the back of Frank's neck. "Easy, Frankie, breathe. It's okay, it's going to be okay, just breathe," he murmured.

Frank closed his eyes, focusing on Ray's voice, letting it center him.

"That's it," Ray said encouragingly. "In and out, slow and easy."

Frank held his breath for a long count before letting go in a shuddering rush. "Sorry," he muttered, shoulders hunching up.

"Listen, I didn't mean to freak you out. But, I swear, this is something that we can totally make happen. Take home the information, go over the details. Especially the financial ones, until you understand what they mean. Show it to Gerard, and discuss it with him. He's got a good head for numbers." He tapped at the folder. "I've got some money set aside, and with the loan, we can totally build our dream studio."

"Ray," Frank chided. "No bank in their right mind is going to give _me_ a loan."

Ray's forehead wrinkled. "Of course they will. Because you're bondless, we qualify under the Disadvantaged Business program. Lower interest rates, government subsidized loans."

"The what program?" Frank was honestly confused.

"There's been some push for the government to do more to help the bondless in the last few years, some big name people calling for reform. So the government has a couple of pilot programs, loans for bondless-owned small businesses and another for guiding the bondless through the process of buying a home."

Frank rubbed tiredly at his face. "I guess I haven't been paying attention." He hadn't needed to, once he'd found Gerard.

"Well, why would you? You weren't looking to buy a house, or start a business…"

"Until now."

"Until now," Ray agreed. "Look, it's late, and you're exhausted. Go home, get some sleep, look over the paperwork. Talk to Gerard, look up the DB program website, write down any questions you have. Look at the business plan I came up with, and the budget. Write down anything you think I've forgotten. And then—" He took a deep breath.

"And then what, Ray?"

Ray's brown eyes were sincere. "Then trust me, Frank. We can do this."

Frank toyed with the edge of the folder. "I'm scared." He was terrified. He'd been born without a soulmark, a single in a world of pairs, and that lack of a mark made him less than whole. He'd spent his life not letting himself need or want, because the world was cruel and brutal to the bondless.

Then he met Gerard, and the very foundations of his world had shifted, but he still struggled to let himself reach for things that he felt he didn't deserve.

"I'm scared, too," Ray said. "But I have faith in us. We have friends and family to support us, if we stumble. We can do this."

Frank's heart was racing, and his mouth was dry with fear. He wanted this, so fucking much. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

Ray's smile was like the sun, bright and warm, and Frank couldn't help but smile back.

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> Section titles from songs off of corruptedkid's lovely mix [Half](https://corruptedkid.tumblr.com/post/166408199977/half-a-fanmix-for-empty-with-you-casual-affair) which they created for _Empty With You_ :
> 
>  _If my heart was a house, you'd be home_ \- "If My Heart Was a House, You'd Be Home" by Owl City  
>  _And I will try to fix you_ \- "Fix You" by Cold Play  
>  _You're my best friend and we're dancing in a world alone_ \- "A World Alone" by Lorde  
>  _When everything's made to be broken_ \- "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls
> 
> I used [Animal Haven in NYC](https://www.animalhavenshelter.org) and [The Dog Cafe in LA](https://www.thedogcafela.com/) for reference for Pawsh Pup, as well as my favorite cat cafe and tea house, [Catsbury Park](https://www.catsburypark.com/).
> 
> The details for Ray and Frank's new studio is based mainly on [Electric Audio](http://www.electricalaudio.com/index.php), which is Steve Albini's studio in Chicago. RL Frank recorded _Keep The Coffins Coming_ there, and crossed off an item on his bucket list. :D
> 
> When I originally thought of this story, I knew that Frank and Gerard would _have_ to adopt Sweet Pea because she was awesome; rest easy, Sweet Pea.


End file.
